


The More Things Change

by SimplySly



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Dark, M/M, Minor AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-14
Updated: 2011-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:26:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplySly/pseuds/SimplySly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a href="http://caelith.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://caelith.livejournal.com/">caelith</a>, who asked for Colin whompage with over-protective Ryan.  This is what came out.  Voted <b>Best Angst of 2007</b> at <a href="wl-fanfiction.livejounal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="wl-fanfiction.livejounal.com/">wl_fanfiction</a>.</p><p>The War changed them all, but it's never more obvious than with Ryan when Colin is hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Minor AU in this case means that maybe they were all born a little bit early or a war continued on a little bit late. In any case, Ryan, Colin and Greg all served in the same unit in an unspecified war when they were young. They're all on Whose Line? while this story is taking place, though, which is why I consider it a _Minor_ AU instead of a complete one.
> 
> The 2007 awards post: <http://wl-fanfiction.livejournal.com/454765.html>.

Colin winced as his body protested even the simple movement of walking. Last night had not been one of his best. Still, he had a show to do today, and he wasn’t going to let a few bruises (and they _were_ bruises, not scars, and scars were worse) slow him down. The steps leading into the studio were decidedly not appreciated, and Colin cast a glare in their direction as he headed inside.

“Stupid steps,” he muttered. He was so absorbed in moving casually and in cursing the rotten stairs that he didn’t notice the man that approached him.

“Colin!” A strong hand clapped on his shoulder, and Colin repressed his instinctive flinch at the sudden pain that bloomed through his body, as well as his other reaction, which was to flip the person that startled him. He reminded himself that it was his friend, and therefore not a threat. “Hey, man. It’s great to see you. Can you believe it’s been a year all ready?”

Colin smiled tightly as he turned to face his friend. “Hi, Wayne. Yeah, the time sure does fly, doesn’t it.”

Wayne grinned, white teeth sharply contrasting with his skin, and for a second Colin forgot his pain. They only saw each other for a few weekends every year, and for some reason, it always slipped Colin’s mind just how handsome the other man truly was. Then Wayne tightened his grip on Colin’s shoulder, and all thoughts of aesthetic beauty fled as Colin masked the sudden flare of pain. Fuck.

“It sure does. Listen, I have to go meet up with Laura and Linda, but I’ll try to catch you before we go onstage, okay?” Colin nodded in response, but Wayne was all ready moving off, full of energy that Colin found himself envying more and more these days. Then he remembered what he had been doing when he _did_ have all that energy, and his brief flare of jealousy died.

Colin made it to Wardrobe without any further incidents, and gave a silent, thankful prayer that they accepted his excuse that the studio was extra cold today, so he wanted long sleeves (please, please, pretty please). Maura, who was seventy if she was a day, had merely laughed and claimed that they could find something for “a cute boy like him.” Colin smiled at her and kissed her cheek. She was a sweet lady, always ready with a smile and kind word. Even though he normally changed in Wardrobe, so that they could make any adjustments they needed to quickly and easily, today he begged off and took his clothes with him to his trailer. He was pleased that he had managed to fool them so easily, and so missed the concerned glances shared among the wardrobe department, and the way Maura tightened her lips in determination. She didn’t normally hold with gossip, but she liked Colin, and telling Ryan would only be for his own good.

  
The trailer was hot from the afternoon sun, and Colin was thankful that he had been able to spend most of the day in the air conditioning (even if it hadn’t been the best of circumstances, and man, was Ryan going to _freak_ when he found out). He closed his eyes against the wave of heat that escaped when he opened the door, squared his shoulders and pushed his way inside. He could stand the heat for a little bit. Once inside, Colin turned up the ac to full blast before changing swiftly, doing his best not to linger on the bruises, or the memories of how he got them. That done, he sat down in front of the mirror to at least start on his make-up. Likely, one of the professionals would stop by later to fix it, but this would save them time. He was in the middle of evening out the thick base, when a knock sounded at his door. Shave and haircut. Colin smiled, it was Ryan. He rose and tapped out the obligatory ‘two-bits’ (all is safe, he meant. nothing here to harm you) before opening the door.

“Hey, Ry,” he greeted. “What’s up?”

Ryan smiled in return, but it seemed fake to Colin, an impression which wasn’t dispelled by the dark sunglasses that Ryan wore (Ryan knew his eyes were expressive, and when he hid them, Colin knew something was up). Colin’s smile dimmed, and he looked at Ryan worriedly. Was something wrong?

“Hey, Col. Can I come in?” Confused (since when did Ryan ask, or for that matter, visit just before a taping?), Colin stepped aside to let Ryan enter, fighting the urge to chuckle as he did so. Even after all these years, the sight of Ryan ducking to enter a door was still mildly amusing.

“Is something wrong? Did something happen to Pat or the kids?” Ryan brushed his concerns aside with a wave of his hand; too relaxed for there to be an emergency, but too fast for this to just be a social visit.

“No, no. They’re fine. Busy, though. Pat’s taken them to their visit their grandparents this weekend, and they’ve been promised horse riding lessons. But there is something wrong.” Ryan had removed his sunglasses by this point; there was no need for them inside, and he knew that the longer he wore them, the more worried Colin became. His green eyes looked steadily at Colin, who suddenly found himself incredibly nervous. There was no way for Ryan to know (he had been careful, so careful. no phone calls, no contact other than what they had fallen into the habit of doing for years), and yet, when he looked at someone like that, he seemed to see right through them.

“Well, what is it? Is there something I can do to help?” Colin fiddled with his wedding ring (there was a time when it wasn’t a wedding ring he had fiddled with, but a claddagh one instead, something else long lost to reddish mud), a nervous habit that he was still trying to stop (don’t reveal anything, or give them something they can use against you. if they know you’re nervous, they’ll know they can break you).

“Col,” Ryan said simply. “Talk to me.”

Colin looked at him, confused. If Ryan didn’t know, it was best not to tell him. Especially not right before a taping. “About what?”

Ryan stepped closer to him, forcing Colin to look up to meet his gaze. Colin swallowed heavily. He had forgotten how much taller Ryan was; it wasn’t often that it was as blatant as this. But, this was Ryan, his friend (partner, lover, protector). Ryan would never hurt him (in fact, Colin knew, he would kill himself before he allowed it, something which was ~~always~~ occasionally frightening). Colin forced himself to breathe deeply (there was no smoke in the air, no smell of death or blood, and Colin wonders when he started noticing such things again). There was nothing to be afraid of, he reminded himself. Never anything to be afraid of (not even Death) with Ryan there. He still couldn’t stop the flinch when Ryan’s hand shot out to clutch at his arm. Colin closed his eyes against Ryan’s curious gaze, and against the pity/anger/insanity he knew would be there as Ryan pushed up the sleeve to reveal his heavily bruised arm. Sometimes, he hated being so pale (can’t tan, though; too many questions about things that didn’t change color with the rest of his body); it made even the smallest of bruises stand out starkly, and (he admitted to himself) these weren’t exactly the smallest of bruises.

Ryan’s touch was gentle as he traced the dark marks on Colin’s skin, but Colin still hissed in pain.

“You wanna tell me about it?” Ryan’s voice was rough, and when Colin finally opened his eyes to look at him, Ryan’s eyes were wet. He was still looking at the bruises, grip light as he was trying not to hurt Colin. He was beating himself up for not being there to protect him, Colin knew. Carefully, his hand was extracted from Ryan’s, and Colin pushed his sleeve back down. There was nothing he could say to make Ryan feel any differently. All he could do was offer a distraction.

“Not right now. We have a show to do. Later, I promise.” Ryan’s eyes searched his for something, and Colin swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat. Having Ryan’s entire attention focused on him was a heady feeling, and always left Colin feeling treasured, and wanting of _something_ that he shied away from identifying. There was a reason they had gotten married to such independent females so soon after returning. Ryan nodded sharply, and Colin let out the breath he hadn’t been aware of holding in a giant rush of air.

“I’ll talk to the guys. Tell them I’m not feeling too well and to take it easy on us.” A plan of protection; if someone was trying to break them, then they would focus on Ryan who had admitted to being injured. Colin’s heart broke a little; there was no one here that was an enemy, no one for them to fight. A brush of lips to Colin’s forehead had his eyes fluttering closed, and when he opened them again, Ryan was gone. The faint scent of his aftershave, and the sunglasses on Colin’s vanity were the only indicators that he had ever really been there (always clean up after yourself, leave no traces other than what can be attributed to someone else, and for fucks sake, be _careful_ out there).

Ryan’s plan might have worked (if it had been needed, which it hadn’t, but Colin could deny Ryan little), but the fourth chair for today’s taping was Greg. He had known them long enough (from before Ryan had changed, before they all had changed) to recognize that it wasn’t _Ryan_ who was feeling unwell. As Colin climbed the steps to the stage and sat down, Greg was watching him steadily, which was enough to unnerve Colin, even if only by the tiniest of bits. While not quite as heady as Ryan’s full attention, Greg’s was nothing to snicker at, either. Colin knew more than one person who had caved under the weight of that stare, and he smiled at Greg in an attempt to ease his suspicions. Greg smiled slightly back, eyes worried as they tracked Colin’s movements. He was looking for signs that his wounds had been torn open (and they hadn’t, hadn’t for years now) and inwardly, Colin sighed. Sometimes it sucked having friends that knew (and worried for) him as well as his did.

The show went well, Colin thought, with Drew casting confused looks occasionally at Greg and Ryan who were treating Colin very carefully, as if he were made of spun glass. High on laughter, Colin wondered for a second if the lights would reflect as prettily through/off him if he spun in the center of the stage lights. An absurd thought that faded into wisps of smoke when Ryan spoke light hearted words but looked at him with worried eyes. Wayne, true to form, was being careful of Ryan, as he had been asked. He never had been quick to pick up when someone said one thing, but meant another. Unless that someone was a woman, although why he thought men were any less likely to do so was a mystery to Colin.

Everything was fine (wonderful even, with the jokes flying quickly, and the audience’s laughter filling the room, making the empty places inside of Colin seem full), until Film, TV and Theater Styles. The scene was something relatively innocuous (compared to others they had been asked to act out, anyway), and everything was _good_ , until Wayne (who was playing up his hysterical female role) jumped on Colin. It was only for a second, not even enough for Colin to truly register pain, and then Ryan was there, practically _tearing_ Wayne off and tossing him to the side. It was in character, barely, but that didn’t stop Colin’s gut from clenching uncomfortably at the wounded expression Wayne gave them ( _oh Wayne, why do you insist on not seeing what’s in front of you? We can’t tell you, but there are enough hints for you to piece it together_ ). He played it off nicely, but after the scene ended, Colin subtly evaded Ryan’s hands which wanted to check him over for fresh wounds (blood that flowed and never stopped, covering Ryan’s hands like the gloves his mother had knitted and sent at Christmas time), and wrapped his arm around Wayne’s waist as they headed back to their seats. It comforted both of them, and it pleased Colin that he was able to show in some small way that they didn’t hate Wayne.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke in a voice too low for the mics to pick up, especially with the applause (it was thunderous, but thankfully not in unison) that they used often to cover up things they didn’t want anyone else to hear. “I’m the one that’s injured, Ryan’s just over protective.” The look that Wayne gave him this time was equal parts relief and pity, and Colin felt only marginally better about his admission. He hated pity. Greg was leaning forward in his chair, looking at him worriedly, and Colin rolled his eyes at him. Greg sat back then, mildly appeased. Colin wouldn’t do that if there was something life-threatening going on. It was enough, for now. The camera’s felt like hundreds of eyes upon his back, but they had always been good at evading surveillance.

Once seated, Colin allowed Ryan’s hand to rest on his knee (fine, I’m fine, living-breathing- _fine_ ), and even covered it briefly with his own before reaching for his glass of water. Despite what he had implied to Greg, the shock of having to support Wayne’s weight, even for as brief a time as Ryan had allowed, had left Colin in a lot of pain. The taping was almost over, only a few more games and then the introductions, and coming back from commercial break filler. He could, and would, suck it up for the rest of the program. Ryan glanced a few times between him and Dan and Colin shook his head slightly. He didn’t want to quit. Ryan didn’t look happy, but accepted it as Colin’s decision. More than once, he had continued when Colin would have rather called off the taping for him; it was only fair that Colin be allowed the same opportunity.

The rest of the taping went well, thankfully, but despite his best efforts to escape, Colin was dragged into the Green Room afterwards, where he was immediately set upon by Wayne and Greg.

“What happened?” From Greg, frank and no-nonsense. Colin had a brief flash of Greg in fatigues, demanding a report, even from those who outranked him.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Wayne, concerned for both Colin and himself. He was so _different_ from the rest of them that Colin sometimes found his heart aching, just thinking about Wayne’s innocence. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because he didn’t want you to know.” Ryan’s arm was a warm, welcome weight across Colin’s shoulders. He gave them a glare that told them in no uncertain terms to back the fuck off. Wayne swallowed heavily and did indeed back up a step or two, but Greg just brushed it off, well used to Ryan’s glares by now. Instead, he moved closer and caught Colin’s chin in his hand, turning Colin’s head first one way, then the other, looking for tell-tale bruises.

“At least they didn’t get your face.” Colin smiles grimly in return.

“Yeah, those are a bitch to cover up.” Greg snorts his agreement, and Colin feels more than hears the growl from Ryan. Ryan hates it when they get hurt. Absently, Colin moves so that his arm is around Ryan’s waist, and strokes his side with long, sure strokes. Within moments, Ryan’s eyes are closed and his head is nuzzling at Colin’s. If he were a cat, he would be purring. Greg’s gaze darts between Ryan and Colin, and then he rolls his eyes. Wayne’s looking at them curiously, but Colin just grins. He’ll learn eventually, or not. He would never believe them if they tried to explain anyway. He was just too young to fully understand.

Drew enters then, and freezes in the doorway. He looks between Greg, and then ColinRyan (one person, two bodies, who were now standing so close together that Colin knew that Drew was having difficulties telling where one ended and the other began), and back again. Drew looked down and began to shine his prop glasses with a handkerchief, as if doing so would help him understand what he was seeing any better. By the time he was finished and looked back up, Colin had stopped stroking Ryan’s side, and they were all wearing their best innocent expressions.

“I don’t want to know.” Drew sighed then. “Are you guys ok?” At their expressions of affirmation, Drew nodded sharply. “Good. Dan and I have been looking over the tapes, and we don’t think we need to do pick up’s tonight. Go ahead and head home.” He left then, shaking his head and muttering something about “goddamn improvers and their secrets.” Shortly after the door closed behind him, Greg, Ryan and Colin dissolved into laughter, with Wayne joining in more because of the contagiousness of their collective amusement, rather than any understanding of what they were laughing about.

It was dark by now, but they all took their time changing back into street clothes. Most evenings, they spent time together after the taping, so there was no where they absolutely had to be anytime soon. They met up again at the front of the building, as was their norm. Most of the time, they would end up going out to a bar, although the venue changed depending on whose turn it was to choose. Tonight, though, Colin begged off, claiming that he just wanted to get home to sleep. Greg and Wayne had smiled their understanding and had gone off towards their cars, laughing. Colin watched them, and how Greg made sure that Wayne made it safely to his car before finding his own. There had been incidents that Wayne didn’t really know of, when it had been necessary that the others had been there to keep Wayne from being hurt. Ryan had enjoyed those nights, while Colin rather thought of them as something distasteful that had to be done anyway. Colin appreciated Ryan’s solid warmth by his side, and they stood there in silence while the other’s taillights moved out of sight.

“So, are they at least taken care of?” Ryan took out a pack of cigarettes and took out two before jamming the pack back into his pocket. He first lit one, taking a long drag off it, before using it to light the second, which he passed to Colin. Colin took it, one of the less than half a pack he had in a year, and took his own drag before replying.

“Yeah, they’re taken care of, mostly. The man who gave the orders is left, though. I thought you might want to take care of him yourself. You’d think that someone would have warned them before now.” Ryan chuckled darkly beside him.

“There are always newbies. Or older ones who think that they’re strong enough to go against us.” Colin made a soft sound of agreement around his cigarette. Such a statement was truth, and didn’t require much in the way of reply. The smoke was familiar, and Colin relaxed more from it than the nicotine that was now cruising through his system. They had shared cigarettes almost from the beginning, he and Ryan. Fragments of home in an otherwise alien environment. The smoke wafted upwards and Colin took a moment to admire the way it caught the light from the nearby streetlamp. It always seemed so fragile; hard to believe that it could kill you.

They began to walk together; neither had driven in to the studio today (Colin had gotten a ride, and Ryan never drove on the first day back, instead he always caught a ride with Colin), so there were no cars for them to worry about being left in the parking lot over night. They quickly left the lights of the studio behind, and headed towards the center of the city. While Las Vegas was called the City that Never Sleeps, Los Angeles wasn’t far behind. There was always something going on, and that’s what Colin and Ryan were counting on.

The ones who had hurt Colin were taken care of. The cops had shown up and carted them all far out of Ryan’s reach. The one who had given the orders hadn’t actually stayed around for very long, just long enough to give Colin a message. Colin hadn’t said much of anything about him to the police, other than that there had been another man whose face he hadn’t caught, and probably wouldn’t recognize if he saw him again. Having the grunts behind bars didn’t mean that Ryan could settle down. _He_ hadn’t been the one to extract vengeance for hurting Colin, and in his mind, that meant that he had failed. If he failed, then Colin would be taken away from him. It was all so simple in Ryan’s mind, and Colin hated it, but accepted it none the less. So, now they were “hunting” for something to make Ryan feel better. Their feet lead them to the darker areas of LA, places where even the cops didn’t feel safe going without _a lot_ of back-up.

They reached the warehouse district, and turned to one with its windows covered with black plastic. There was a man standing at the door; he looked them over briefly before waving them inside.

Inside was loud, the strength of the music nearly blasting them back before they had even fully entered. There were bodies pressing against each other suggestively, almost in time with the heavy beat of the music, and all around them was the combined scent of sweat, alcohol, and sex. Colin swallowed heavily; this was not his kind of place. He preferred the atmosphere of a bar with sports on the television screens, and fried foods served by the basketful. The kind of place that he had gone into last night, secure in his public face, and of the fear of Ryan that tended to be spread in the whispers of dark corners, with no one sure who had started them.

Still, Ryan needed this (Colin purposefully tried not to think of what _this_ was), so he pointed to the man in the darkened corner who was smiling in his arrogance, and Ryan left Colin then to go and talk to him. Colin’s stomach hurt. He pushed his way up to the bar and ordered a whiskey sour and a scotch on the rocks. Took out his wallet to pay and was waved aside by the bartender. Down here, the smart ones did recognize him. The whiskey burned his throat.

Soon, Ryan was back and Colin purposefully did not look back towards the shadowy corner he had come from. If Ryan’s smile was a little too manic, Colin knew better than to mention it. Ryan reached for the scotch, and if Colin noticed the blood on his fingers or the splatters on the cuffs of his shirt, Colin knew better than to mention that either. Ryan drank down the shot in one gulp, and Colin hurried to finish his own drink. Ryan’s hand was warm and wet on Colin’s own, and together they headed back out into the night. No one looked at the shadowy corner.

Colin had arranged for a hotel room for the duration of his stay, but hadn’t actually spent more than ten minutes there since his plane had arrived yesterday. Last night, he had spent at the police station, giving his statement and answering questions. He had managed to convince the police officer who was giving him a ride to stop off there for a few moments for him to change clothes, before heading into the studio earlier. He wasn’t going to make it back tonight, either. Instead, Ryan led Colin to his house.

It was a modest house, no more than a person could afford on a middle class income, but it was large enough for Ryan and his family, on the few occasions that they joined him in LA. It was white, and had roses in the front yard. The light was dim, but Colin could make out the red, yellow, and pink blossoms that twined together, the branches locked so tightly together that it was next to impossible to trace the base of the plant to its blooms. From this distance, the thorns were invisible. Their scent lingered in the air, and greeted Colin like an old friend. He had been here so many times, that it was almost like coming home.

Inside, Ryan by-passed the downstairs guest bedroom, choosing instead to lead Colin upstairs to the master bedroom, and into the master bath. Once there, Colin stood still while Ryan stripped him, kissing each of his bruises in a mute apology and promise to do better interwoven like the roses, inseparable from each other. Colin closed his eyes so that he couldn’t see them reflected in the mirror.

The tub was large enough to fit them both with room left over, and Ryan ran the water just slightly hotter than Colin would have liked. It stung as he lowered himself down into Ryan’s waiting embrace. He rested his head on Ryan’s shoulder, and let Ryan’s hands wash away the lingering tension and pain. The bathroom is clean, and bright, and Colin used its familiarity to push away all the thoughts that don’t belong. They stayed there for almost an hour, with Ryan refreshing the hot water every now and again. When they finally got out, Colin felt better, and he kissed Ryan chastely in thanks. They don’t need words.

As they lay in bed together, Ryan between Colin and the door (just in case, although it scares Colin what Ryan might consider “in case”), long arms and legs wrapped around him as if he might be taken away in the night, Colin tried not to remember what Ryan had used to be like before. When he had hated using his height to intimidate anyone, and had only used force in mock battles that no one really won or lost. Back when he and Colin were friends, but before Colin (and later Greg) was _his_. Before Ryan learned to hate, before he learned to kill. Before the war stole everything and left behind these shells that went through the motions, but never really left the battlefield.

One of Ryan’s hands rested on Colin’s heart, the other on his stomach. Both covered silvery scars that never really faded, but at least weren’t too obvious against Colin’s pale skin (can’t tan, never tan, Ryan’s eyes dark the one time he tried). Ryan’s hands were clean, but whenever Colin looks at them, he sees them covered in blood. His blood.

He breathed deeply then of Ryan’s scent, and that of the roses which permeated the house the way blood and death once did the same to them, and forced his body to relax. When he had first met Ryan, he couldn’t have imagined that they would have eventually ended up naked in bed together, especially not without having had sex first. He remembered then, and couldn’t stop.

Colin had volunteered to fight, without quite knowing what he was getting into. He was young, barely twenty, and thought that he was man. It hadn’t taken more of a week of fighting before he had accepted otherwise. They were all boys out there, but none could leave, except in a body bag. He lost his first battle buddy, the person he was supposed to be closest to and look out for, that way. The weeks past, and when the officers (some were barely older than he was, fresh-faced and nervous) had heard about his gift with words, Colin had somehow gotten roped into writing the letters home, the ones that everyone hated, as there was no nice way to tell someone that their father/son/brother/lover was dead, and never coming back. Some of them died slowly, their intestines hanging out, covered in dirt and shrapnel. Others died quickly, a bullet to the head. He said that they all died quickly, bravely, in no pain. He hates himself for the lies he told.

When Ryan showed up, he was young, cocky and Colin hated him for it. He made people laugh, though, and then Colin loved him. When they became battle buddies, Colin forced himself to pay enough attention to life to make Ryan laugh in return. He likes to think that it made Ryan love him back, but is too afraid of the answer to ever ask.

It wasn’t until much later that Greg appeared, and by then Ryan was nearly as jaded as Colin, both afraid of getting too close to someone else, because they all died. Greg, though, saw something in them that he liked, and stuck close like Colin could remember his younger brother doing when they had been kids. Colin liked him well enough, but by then, Ryan and Colin were so close that they didn’t quite know how to make room for anyone else. When they started sleeping in the same bunk, no one said anything. They just wished that they had someone to share with, too.

Colin remembered the helicopter that had carried them out, finally. He had been dying, but Ryan had saved him. Unfortunately, it seemed that doing so had scarred Ryan for life. He was now so afraid of Colin dying, of being hurt, that he couldn’t force himself to accept it. The first time that Colin had been hurt after being home, there hadn’t been anything that Ryan was able to do to help. Colin still remembers the smells of the hospital antiseptic, and the way the leather straps had cut into Ryan’s wrists. He had made sure that there was something for Ryan to do to help ever since.

They had come back with scars, all of them. Greg couldn’t stop looking for danger, even when there wasn’t any. There had been a few times when this had come in handy, even once or twice when he had been walking Wayne to his car, but no one talked about it. Ryan had taken care of it. He didn’t want to lose Greg, either.

If Drew or Dan wondered why the three occasionally were too morbid in their jokes, or why they were so careful when they were in someplace new, they never asked.

Ryan murmured in his sleep against Colin’s shoulder, happy sleep sounds, and slowly Colin joined him in slumber.

He dreamed of smoke, and explosions, and young men, barely more than boys (they were his age, weren’t they?) who laughed, and bleed, and died. He dreamed of reams of paper that he kept writing on, telling mothers that their sons, their blessed, beautiful sons, were gone (sorry, sorry, it was quick, painless), beautiful lies that tasted of ashes in his mouth. Ryan was there, a bright spot in the darkness that wasn’t blood. He made them laugh, and Colin loved him for that. Boys came, and left (so many body bags, piled up and hidden behind tarps that fooled no one), and then Greg was there with his biting wit, and easy laugh, and he was welcome, but not quite one of them. And they were Ryan and Colin and Colin and Ryan and RyanColin ColinRyan one person in two bodies that lived and laughed and loved even when the gunfire didn’t stop at night time, and the wind always carried the smell of death and decay.

They were fighting, taken by surprise, but it was ok, because Ryan was right there beside him. Then there was pain, blooming white hot in Colin’s chest and stomach, and Ryan was screaming and holding him down, and there was red on his hands (despite his hair, it really wasn’t his color, didn’t he know that?). Greg was there and gone, and there again, face serious and eyes too bright, lips too grim. He should be smiling. So should Ryan who looked at him with desperation and spoke words that Colin didn’t quite catch in a voice that broke and whose hands wouldn’t move from his chest. Colin tried to speak, to tell him to get back to fighting, you idiot, they were going to overrun the camp, but couldn’t catch his breath.

There was something large then, that blocked out the sun, and was falling quickly to earth. Colin opened his mouth to scream a warning

and sat up in bed, voice still caught in his throat, and Ryan’s arms tight around him. He fought instinctively, and Ryan woke up with a start.

“What? What is it? Colin?” Colin froze, heart pounding in his chest, feeling as though he had just jitterbugged with Wayne. He clutched then at Ryan’s hands, and was relieved to find them clean and dry. He cleared his throat and tried to speak again.

“Ry?”

“I’m here. What is it, Col?” He was shivering now as his sweat dried. It was just a dream, only a dream. Colin lay back down, and Ryan peppered his shoulders with kisses.

“Just a dream. Sorry to wake you.” Ryan drew him close, and they reveled in the fact that they were both there and _alive_.

“It’s ok. Always wake me.” A kiss below Colin’s ear, and he was finally calming, adrenaline draining away. Colin linked the fingers of their left hands together and raised it to his lips. He pressed a kiss into the center of Ryan’s palm, and breathed deeply of air that wasn’t tainted with blood.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.” They drifted off to sleep again, and this time, if Colin dreamed, he didn’t remember it on waking.

In the morning, Maura read the paper with her first cup of coffee. On page three, there was an article about a man, thought by police to be connected to the assault of a comedian (name withheld), who was found beaten to death in a ‘club’ in the bad part of town, perhaps because of a similar deal gone bad. She smiled to herself and made a mental note to find some nice shirts for Ryan. The boy deserved a treat. She hummed as she washed her dishes, and remembered a light blue pullover that would look great on Colin. Perhaps Ryan would appreciate it, too.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first "circle jerk" mentioned in the notes. During the War, so way pre to the main thrust of the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a talk in the comments from when it was first posted:
> 
> Ryan's protectiveness gives Colin chills, too. Colin, at least, can recognize that it's not right, and that Ryan shouldn't be this way. It's become ingrained in Ryan that if he doesn't protect Colin, that Colin will die. Sort of childlike, if you don't take care of your toys, then they get taken away type of thing. In my mind, at least for this fic, they haven't ever had sex. Well, there were the occasional circle jerks back in the bunker, but that was it. It was just something they did, but never talked about. They both sort of recognize the possibility for more, but firmly believe that being married will keep them from acting on it. They did, after all, promise to be faithful.
> 
> Greg understands them the best of anyone that isn't them. Colin joined up when he was twenty, Ryan came in shortly after his birthday at the end of April, but Greg didn't come in until November, after his birthday. He wasn't in it quite as long as they were, but what he did see shaped him more than even he knows. Ryan and Colin will lie (especially Ryan, especially if he thinks it will protect Colin), but Greg was there and knows all their tricks, and the reasons for them. He was there when Colin almost died, and again when Ryan had to be hospitalized for his own safety. But, he also realizes (not necessarily better than Colin, but definitely better than Ryan) that being so absorbed in the past isn't good, and will only hurt them in the long run.

They had been sharing a cot for awhile (just taking comfort in having someone so close that was alive) without incident, so the first time that Colin woke up with Ryan's erection digging into his hip, it was a bit of a shock. He forgot, sometimes, that Ryan was just 18, and a young 18 at that. That's not to say that he didn't sometimes spring inopportune wood, but it he was getting better at controlling it. It was weird, and slightly uncomfortable, and if it had been anyone else, Colin would have pushed them out of bed. But it was Ryan, so instead he just ignored it and went about business as usual. If Ryan's eyes lingered on him a bit too long that morning, well, war did strange things to people.

It happened a everyday for the rest of the week, and by the end of it, Colin was getting a bit annoyed. He pulled Ryan aside that evening, before they went inside the bunker.

"Listen, how about I get everything ready here, while you go, you know." Ryan blushed bright red, and it was surprisingly endearing. He scuffed his boots in the dirt, and looked down, abashed.

"I do, generally. It just, sort of happens in the morning. I'm sorry. You aren't going to go back to sleeping in your own bunk, are you?" He looked at Colin pleadingly, and Colin didn't have the heart to deny him. He remembered what Ryan's nightmares had been like before they had started sleeping together. No one had gotten any sleep for weeks. Even if Colin wanted to, he had the feeling that the other guys in their squad would kill him if he moved back to his own bunk.

"No, I'm not going to move back. Don't worry," he patted Ryan on the arm. "I'll think of something." Now if only he could figure out what that something was.

A few days passed, including a rather terrifying skirmish (don't call it a battle, it wasn't big enough for such a thing, keep the words small as to not scare the folks back home), and that evening Colin had his own erection to deal with. No problem, it was just the body's natural response to stress. He could handle this. He stripped down to boxers and his undershirt, with Ryan's eyes watching him.

The bunker was quieter than it normally was. They had lost so many, and more were off at the nearest field hospital getting treatment. Outside, the gunfire that had been a constant presence for the last few days was finally silent. Ryan's eyes followed him as he finished arranging his uniform and boots for easy access in the morning, just in case he had to dress quickly. He slid into bed, and Ryan's arms were quickly around him.

"Hey," he whispered, almost subvocally. It wouldn't do to shatter the silence that hung heavy in the air. "It's ok, I'm here."

Ryan clutched him to his chest, and to Colin's horror, he found his body reacting to the heat of Ryan's. He closed his eyes and tried to think nasty thoughts. His primary school Mrs. McKinsey topless, the way his high school gym teacher's stomach had bounced when he ran during basketball drills, John Wayne in drag. The last one made it a bit more manageable, until Ryan pressed his own erection into Colin's hip.

"Colin," he breathed, and then bit his lip. The light was dim, moonlight that came in through the cracks, but Colin could still see the indents where Ryan's teeth threatened to break his skin. Well, that wouldn't do. The blood would draw flies, and there were already enough of those about.

"Shh," he said as he worked a hand between them. It felt strange to hold another man's erection, but not as strange as Colin thought it might. It was just a penis, after all, and the main difference being that Ryan was cut, while Colin was not. There would be no sleep for either of them until their erections were under control, at least, that was the excuse Colin gave himself as he began to work his hand up and down Ryan's shaft. He listened to the little gasps and half moans that Ryan bit off to tell him what was working. The sooner this was done, the sooner they could sleep.

He wasn't expecting Ryan's hand to slid between them and tentatively explore the front of Colin's boxers, as if searching for the way in. Colin bit his lip, it felt good to have someone else's hand there for a change. He hesitated, and then shifted a bit to give Ryan a better angle. Soon, they were jerking each other off, Ryan's large hand so strange and yet familiar on Colin, and he hoped that he was giving at least a fraction of the pleasure he was receiving.

Ryan came first, his entire body tensing up, mouth open in what seemed to be a silent sob. He kept his hand moving on Colin, though. When Colin came, it seemed slightly anti-climatic, and no where near as sweet as watching Ryan's face. He pushed such thoughts out of his head, and reached down beside the bed to find a sock to clean up with. At home, he would have had tissues, but they were too conspicuous here on the battle field. At home, he wouldn't have had Ryan in his bed. He's not quite sure which he prefers.

They're quiet in the aftermath, and Ryan's watching him with eyes that say so much. It would be easy, Colin feels, to break whatever fragile thing it is that Ryan's offering him. He hugs Ryan then, and kisses his ear softly. "Thank you," he murmurs.

 

A few bunks down, one of the younger soldiers (Matthews, Colin thinks his name was. Timothy Matthews, just barely 18) sobs into his pillow. Ryan wraps himself more firmly about Colin, and they lay there in silence until he finally stops. When sleep finally comes, Colin thankfully doesn't dream.


End file.
